


Filling the Void

by Timeless A-Peel (timelessapeel)



Series: Gareth Hunt and Joanna Lumley Character Crossovers [3]
Category: Absolutely Fabulous, That Beryl Marston...!
Genre: Angst, Crossover, F/M, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-13
Updated: 2012-01-13
Packaged: 2017-10-29 11:24:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/319363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timelessapeel/pseuds/Timeless%20A-Peel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short. The last thing Gerry Bodley expected on the lowest night of his life was to get picked up in a bar by a girl. Especially not an outrageous blonde with some frustrations to work off...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Filling the Void

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own "Absolutely Fabulous," nor the characters of Patsy Stone and Edina Monsoon. They belong to French & Saunders Productions and the British Broadcasting Corporation. Nor do I own "That Beryl Marston...!", or the characters of Gerry and Georgie Bodley, and Beryl Marston. They belong to Renown Productions Ltd. All of the above are used without permission for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended.

Gerry Bodley slouched into the bar of the Brighton Hotel, feeling as though the weight of the world was on his shoulders, knowing that everyone in the room was tracking his progress. Anyone who shared a bed with the infamous Beryl Marston soon found himself as fodder for the grapevine, and he was certain most of the locals filling the corners of the room were aware that his and Georgie’s divorce came through tomorrow. Some of them had probably come tonight with full knowledge that it was one of his favourite haunts, in the hope that he would put in an appearance. He could have avoided their inquisitive gazes by going elsewhere, but no matter where he went, someone would surely be eyeing him up. May as well not disappoint this lot.

Gerry slid wearily onto a bar stool, signalled for the barman, and ordered a scotch. While he waited for his drink, he let his eyes wander around the room, meeting the eyes of a few people too slow to look away before his gaze met theirs. He set his mouth in grim satisfaction, hoping he may have shamed one or two. He was about to continue on this course, when a woman’s voice dragged his eyes back to the bar.

“Oi! Barman! Refill!”

The speaker was a girl seated three stools down from him. Gerry had been so lost in his thoughts when he sat down, he hadn’t noticed her, though now that she was talking, it was hard to imagine how he had. She was tall and slim, with a good figure wrapped in the most fashionable clothes 1981 had to offer. Her dress was made of blue silk, with puffed sleeves. The skirt was obscenely short, giving an excellent view of her shapely legs as she perched on the edge of the stool. Her blonde hair had been permed, and then piled on top of her head. She wore very heavy make-up—a slash of bright red lipstick, pink blush, and dark blue eyeshadow. The nails were cut long and painted blue, bracketing the smouldering cigarette she held in her right hand. She’d clearly been there for some time, if the overflowing ashtray and series of empty, lipstick stained glasses were any indication.

The barman, looking exasperated, gave Gerry his Scoth, then turned to the girl. “Look, love, I told you, you’ve had enough.”

The girl’s face twisted into a sneer. “Not anywhere near, you empty-headed imbecile. You could inject the bloody stuff into my veins, and it wouldn’t make a difference. Anyway, I’m staying here. It’s not as though I’m driving. Don’t even know how to drive. So be a good little barman, and fill me up?”

The barman cast Gerry a world-weary look, then trotted off to do just that. Gerry was surprised. Usually the man was very strict about setting limits on his customers, no matter how much they protested, but this girl seemed to have worn him down to his last raw nerve. Gerry turned back to observe this amazing creature of the superhuman iron will. With the barman off to do her bidding, she had turned her attentions to the task of lighting what must have been her eightieth cigarette of the day, judging by the overflowing ashtray by her elbow. Her lighter seemed to have broken under the strain, because she was unsuccessfully trying to flick it to life, muttering curses around the unlit cigarette in the process. She eventually cast the malfunctioning instrument aside in disgust, and her piercing blue eyes searched the room for an alternative. Her gaze finally came to a rest on Gerry’s own lighter, which he’d set, out of habit, on the bar when he’d sat down. Before he could react, the woman had slid off the stool, crossed the short distance between them, and snatched up the lighter, eliciting a startled and outraged “Hey!” from Gerry. The blonde paid him no heed, returning to her stool and lighting up with relish. She set the purloined lighter among her clutter, and took a long, satisfied drag. Gerry watched, jaw slack.

“Now, just a minute,” he sputtered, standing up. “You can’t just take—“

“Oh, don’t whine, you tiresome little man,” the blonde snapped, exhaling in a long grey plume. “I can and I did. Get over it.”

Gerry was amazed at her brazenness. “Who the hell do you think you are?” he demanded.

“Stone. Patsy Stone. Cheers, thanks a lot.” The last part was directed at the bartender, who had arrived with her drink. She toasted Gerry cheekily, then downed half the glass’ contents in a single gulp. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist. You can have it back when I’m finished.”

“I’d better,” Gerry muttered, sitting back down again. “It was a gift from my wife.”

Patsy snorted in disgust. “Wife. Marriage. What a bloody waste of time.”

Gerry wasn’t certain if he should welcome that comment or not at this stage of the game. On the one hand, he was getting divorced, so marriage bashing would seem to be in season. On the flip side, he had a feeling that he’d made a horrible mistake mucking things up with Georgie. In the end, he settled with a noncommittal, “Oh?”

“The reason I’m here,” Patsy explained, clearly uninterested in whether or not he wanted to know why, “is because of bloody marriage. Eddie—my best friend Eddie—she’s married. To this useless heap of a man. They have a brat, too.” She paused to take a drag on her cigarette, giving Gerry a chance to cut in.

“And that’s bad, is it?”

“Of course it’s bad, you idiot,” Patsy spat venomously. “Before she got herself up the duff, we did whatever we wanted, whenever we wanted. Now...sometimes it’s the way it used to be, but sometimes the useless husband and brat get to her, and then she starts thinking she should be ‘responsible.’” Patsy shook her head in disgust, tapped the ash off her cigarette. “Never lasts, thankfully, but she’s a bitch of a bore in the meantime.”

“And I suppose right now is one of those times?” Gerry deduced.

Patsy nodded. “We were supposed to go to a gig. I had the tickets and everything.” She looked up and met Gerry’s eyes, seemingly desperate for him to understand. “It was the Stones, darling! The Stones! They used to be ours! Our band! And she passed them up for that lump of a husband and her brat.” She took an irritable drag on her cigarette. “I’ll say it again: ever since she got up the duff, she’s forgotten how to have fun.”

“That’s a bit selfish, isn’t it? Can’t blame her for wanting to spend time with her family, can you?” Gerry pointed out mildly.

Patsy looked down at him through narrowed eyes, and the slash of crimson curled into a sneer. “Is it? If you love nauseatingly happy families so much, why aren’t you at home with yours?”

She had him there. Gerry averted his eyes, looked down at his drink instead. “My wife and I...we haven’t, well...” He shrugged. There wasn’t any other way to say it. “The divorce is finalised tomorrow,” he admitted, lifting the glass and downing the last of the drink before Patsy could say a word. What was the point of going to the bar if you didn’t completely humiliate yourself in front of a complete stranger?

Patsy’s smirk was self-satisfied. “Thought so,” she proclaimed, tapping her cigarette into the ashtray. “Let me guess. You got bored, took a ride on the village bike, got caught, and now you’re out here, and the tart’s cycled on?” She chuckled throatily at Gerry’s surprised expression. “Oh, don’t look so surprised, darling. I’ve seen it a thousand times before. Been the bike a few times myself.” She smirked again, and took a thoughtful drag as she reminisced on what was more likely than not some old conquest long gone. “Anyway, you look the type. Dark and broody and restless. Not meant for domesticity, people like us. Ruins you. Just like Eddie.” She paused, exhaled her smoke in a strange sort of sigh, then stubbed out her cigarette for something to do, even though it was far from burnt out. “Same with your tart. Can’t really expect her to hang around, can you? You’re just one stop on the adventure tour.” She tapped another cigarette out of the pack, lit it with his nicked lighter. “But if you want, I could, you know, fix her.”

Gerry frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You know. Just that—“ She mimed twisting something violently in her hands. “And that.” The next motion was a snapping one.

Gerry’s eyes widened in horror. “What?! NO!”

Patsy shrugged, unperturbed. “Suit yourself, sweetie. Only trying to help.” They sat in silence for a moment. “It wouldn’t have to be obvious. An overdose or something...”

“We’re not having this conversation anymore,” Gerry said tersely. She really was barking insane, this woman. He was starting to wonder if he ought to go out into the parking lot alone with her on the loose.

Patsy finished off her drink, signalled to the barman. Gerry watched her out of the corner of his eye, glad that her attention was elsewhere for the moment. Her hand motions seemed to indicate she wanted something of a certain size. He wasn’t surprised when the barman went away and returned with a bottle of Stoli that looked as though it could drop a horse. Patsy hefted it effortlessly for such a skinny thing, slid expertly off the bar stool, and started to saunter toward the door. She had to pass his stool as she did so, and nudged him in the ribs in the process.

“Ouch! What?” Gerry wanted to know, rubbing his side irritably. He was tired and depressed, and he’d had quite enough of Patsy’s antics. She maintained her unnerving calm, cigarette shifting expertly to the corner of her mouth so she could speak.

“Are you coming or what?” she inquired, cradling the Stoli close to her chest.

“Coming where?” Gerry grumbled.

Patsy snorted in annoyance, and removed the cigarette. “Upstairs, you idiot. Haven’t you ever been picked up in a bar before?”

Gerry’s mouth dropped open. This couldn’t be happening. There was no way in hell Patsy could exist in the real world without the apocalypse following close behind. He must be dreaming. Or hallucinating. He’d been drinking too much. That was it. Any minute now he’d wake up in his uninspiring flat, passed out on the living room carpet.

Patsy was tapping her foot impatiently. “Look, if you’re not coming, I can always ask someone else, so make up your mind.”

“You,” Gerry said slowly, “are asking me up to your room?”

“Yeah,” Patsy confirmed, taking another drag. “Why not? You’re not bad looking, you’re all on your own.” She paused, then added. “Like me.”

For the first time, Gerry saw something in Patsy’s eyes that wasn’t annoyance, or disdain, or self-satisfaction. It was...loneliness. At the end of the day, despite her bravado, Patsy really was lost without her friend. Gerry was feeling pretty lost himself. The divorce wasn’t proving to be nearly as satisfying as he’d once thought—no wife, and no Beryl. He was now completely and utterly alone. Free. And for the first time in years, he didn’t want to be. Maybe if he could help Patsy through the night, she’d do the same for him, and they’d both be able to start afresh in the morning. Maybe Georgie had changed her mind with some distance between them. She wouldn’t see him tonight, he was certain of that. And anything was better than spending the night alone in that flat.

He pulled some notes out of his wallet and slapped them on the bar, then turned to Patsy. “Yeah,” he agreed, meeting those lonely eyes. “Why not?”

She grinned, genuinely pleased. “Cheers, darling,” she said brightly, handing him the bottle. “Hold that and hurry up. Thanks a lot.”

She sauntered out, and he followed, feeling the eyes on him. Let them judge. They had voids to fill.

End

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Notes: The idea for this one is fairly old, dating back to when I wrote the Sapphire & Steel/TNA/Upstairs Downstairs crossover last year. Naturally, if I was going to do another Joanna series, I wanted to cross it with another Gareth series. So this time around, we get Absolutely Fabulous crossed with That Beryl Marston...!, Gareth’s 1981 sitcom. Gerry Bodley is Gareth’s character, and I’ve set it the day before the first episode of that series, when Gerry’s divorce becomes final. Not only did it let me envision a 1980s take on Patsy, but it was a good source for a plotline. And it’s not even strictly a TNA-story, just a piece where both characters happen to have been played by TNA actors. Gareth and Joanna should have been in more things together anyway. This is just one way to redress that. ;-)
> 
> Also, Patsy? Really hard to write for. Not having seen a lot of AbFab lately, her voice was hard to nail (I was actually in the middle of watching S&S last time, so Sapphire’s voice was pretty clear in my mind). I don’t claim to be Jennifer Saunders, but I gave it my best shot, and anyway, the Patsy I was writing was a decade younger than the one that first appeared in the show, and there were never any 1980s AbFab flashbacks, so I figure I have some wiggle room for artistic licence.


End file.
